In the Dead of Night
by Vermillion Jay
Summary: When Norway wakes up in the middle of the night, he doesn't expect to see Iceland, already awake and looking like he's seen a ghost. No pairings, just some good ol' brotherly fluff.


Norway wasn't typically awake at two-thirty in the morning. He would have loved to have been asleep this late at night, but apparently fate had different plans for him.

Of course, Denmark was resting peacefully next to him, snoring just a bit too loudly, limbs sprawled across the bed.

There was no way Norway was going back to sleep with his stupid boyfriend stealing kicking and churning, stealing the blankets from Norway and making him shiver.

Idiot.

Realizing the futility in attempting to fall asleep, Norway decided there was no harm in going downstairs for a glass of milk. After putting a bathrobe over his naked body, he made his way down the stairs, groggy but far too deep in thought to go to sleep.

Suddenly, he heard a loud crash from the kitchen, followed the sound of stifled curses. Norway had to wonder who else was up at this ungodly hour.

The answer should have been obvious. There were only three people living in this house most the year, and one of them was fast asleep. Iceland, however, kept a reasonable sleeping schedule, so it was still rather shocking that he was awake at this hour.

"Ice?" he asked as he walked into the kitchen, curious as to why exactly his beloved brother was up so late.

"Holy shit!" Iceland's eyebrows shot up in shock. He had seemingly dropped a glass, and was now cleaning up the shards and spilled water that remained. That explained the crash. "Norway! What the fuck are you doing awake?"

He smirked. "I could ask you the same thing."

"It's nothing." Iceland blushed as he cast his gaze toward the hardwood floor. Having finally finished clearing the floor, he stood up, tossing the glass remains in the garbage before sitting down at the table.

"No," Norway countered, "it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not," he repeated, placing a doting hand on his shoulder. "You're bright red and you only try to shrug me off like this when you're embarrassed. What is it?"

Knowing he'd been caught, he let out a sigh, turning around to face his brother. "I just couldn't be alone in my room, okay?"

"And why not?" Norway questioned.

"Like I'm gonna tell you-" he started, but he cut off once he saw Norway's 'take-no-shit' glare. "Fine. I, uh, may have had a nightmare."

Norway furrowed his eyebrows in an expression that looked somewhere between frustrated and worried (though Iceland wasn't exactly amazing at reading Norway's expressions).

He growled. "Don't you glare at me with those stupid, judgmental eyes! It's totally normal for people to get nightmares."

"Yes, but not you – not often, anyway."

"So?" Iceland huffed, crossing his arms.

Norway changed tactics. "Do you want some hot chocolate?"

"Maybe some coffee?" he replied, caught off-guard.

"Not at three in the morning." He snorted amusedly, walking over to the cupboard and pulling out a mug.

Iceland rolled his eyes. "Fair."

* * *

"Nore! Nore!" was the mantra Norway woke to, hundreds of years earlier. Someone was knocking frantically on the door, tiny fists pounding furiously at their full strength.

Iceland.

The whole kingdom would probably have woken up had Norway not opened the door right then, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stifled a yawn. "Icey, what is it?" the preteen demanded coldly. Though he didn't want Iceland to feel bad, he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about having been woken by his kid brother. That obnoxious Dane was already going to banging on the door by six in the morning; he didn't need Iceland waking him up in the middle of the night,

He was surprised when the toddler started to cry, wrapping his little arms Norway's legs in an attempted hug.

Well, that probably wasn't a good sign.

"Hush, hush," he cooed softly, lifting the boy and carrying him over to his bed. "Iceland, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" He knelt down next to him.

Iceland shook his head, tears still sliding down his cheeks as he began to pout.

Norway found it rather cute, but he still had no idea what was wrong with his brother. "What is it then, Icey? Did something scare you?"

"Nore," he whimpered, resting his head in Norway's chest. "I had a nightmare."

"I'm sorry. What happened in it?"

This question seemed to agitate his brother, as he began to snivel with renewed vigor, sniffing as he let out a pitiful whine.

Norway's eyes widened in surprise, and he started to feel a bit guilty. Perhaps that was the wrong question to ask? "Ice, it's okay. I'm here now, and I'm never going to leave you, alright? If you want, you can sleep in here for the night."

"O-okay," he replied. And with that, Norway crawled into the bed next to him, pulling the covers over both of them.

* * *

"So, why are you up?" Iceland asked, because while it wasn't so strange that Norway was up this late, Iceland was sure he'd seen Norway go to bed.

"Denmark probably woke me up with his snoring." Norway placed a steaming mug of hot cocoa in front of him, then sat in a seat on the other side of the table. "What was your nightmare about?"

"Umm, well…" he trailed off, hiding his discomfort by taking a sip of his drink.

Norway was far too observant of his own good. "Too soon?"

"What? No!" he yelled, and it was a wonder Denmark didn't wake up. "I'm not three-hundred years old anymore, Norway!"

His brother found the way he clenched his fists around his mug and angrily took a furious sip of cocoa rather amusing. "Alright," Norway said, "then what was your nightmare about?"

A sigh. "It's stupid."

"Clearly, it's not. Otherwise, you would have gone back to bed."

"No, it's nothing. It's just that I've had this dream before."

"So-"

"Stop," he interrupted. "I'll tell you. In the dream, I can't move. I want to move, I want to run away, I want to leave, but I can't. And there's someone there (I don't know who) telling me lies, saying that no one loves me, that Denmark only let me stay because of you, that you left because you didn't love me," his voice cracked, and he began to blush again out of embarrassment. "It's different every time. And… I know it's not true, but sometimes it still makes me wonder if maybe it is."

"How often do you have that dream?" Norway asked, concerned. It wasn't often that Iceland openly admitted to being insecure, and it worried him that he was so broken up over this. What had he done wrong?

"Not much anymore," Iceland assured him. "It started back during the Kalmar Union, when I'd sneak into your room in the middle of the night. It happened almost every night right after you went off with Sweden."

He winced. "I'm sorry."

Iceland glared. "It's not your problem."

"Yes it is. If I hadn't left-"

"Then you would have left on your own some other time, and I would have gone through the same thing. Just stop worrying about it. I knew I shouldn't have told you." Having finished his hot chocolate, he stood up and started walking back to his room.

"Wait," Norway called, running to catch up to him.

"What?" he bit back sourly.

Norway wrapped his arms around him. "Iceland, I love you."

"I… I know." He returned the hug, holding still for a few moments before awkwardly pulling back.

"You won't going to go back to sleep if you try, will you?" Norway asked.

Iceland smirked. "Probably not."

"Wanna go bother Denmark?"

"Hell yes."

 **A/N: And then, y'know, the three of them pull an all-nighter and play stupid games and eat too much sugar and stuff. This is just a quick oneshot I did for my friend, vaetta! You should go read her stories; they're beautiful.**


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